THE GRASS is greener on the other side - how true a saying in the angling world.
You start fishing a stillwater and see a lot of activity on the other side of the lake, so you relocate, only to see the place you've moved from come alive. Or, on the riverbank, the next pool always looks so tempting and far fishier than the one you're in.
In acute cases, entire rivers or lakes may be disregarded, in disbelief that decent fishing could be had on something a stone's throw away. Such is the case with the River Taff, which starts its course high up in the mining valleys of South Wales and cuts its path relentlessly seawards towards Cardiff Bay. Until a few decades ago the Taff ran a very solemn shade of black. Then globalisation struck, the pits closed, and discharge from the mining ceased, giving nature a second chance. Granted, the Taff certainly won't be the prettiest place that you've ever laid a line, for the trees are dressed in an array of colourful plastics, while shopping trolleys hatch out of most back-eddies.
But if you can put this aside and see past yet another one of man's challenges for the Taff, tremendous sport awaits you for a mere £4 a day.
I had mentioned the spoils the river had to offer to trout Fisherman's Cliff Waters a few months earlier, and he had promised to come and visit that following winter. He's a man of his word, so we had an early start on an unusually mild December's day. Great fishing can be had along the course of the Taff, but today we would concentrate on the lower reaches - I explained to Cliff that great catches can be had right next to the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff city centre.
It was mild, yet surface activity was slow. Bugs and nymphs seemed to be the order of the day; as such, we geared up our 9ft rods with 8ft leaders and two heavy bugs. Cliff opted for a 4 weight, while I threaded a floating line through my 6 weight. Grayling were to be our target species, but a myriad of species inhabit the Taff - trout, both rainbows and browns, chub, barbel, as well as migratory fish such as sea-trout and salmon.
Cliff needed no introduction to river grayling fishing, and we searched every pocket and crease like a finely-tuned tennis duo testing for the opposition's weaknesses. Would the lady of the stream have a weakness for gold? They would do if they were anything like the ladies I know!
In fairness, catching grayling involves quite basic tactics and patterns, making them ideal target species for the stillwater angler widening his horizons.
If you have an 8ft - 10ft rod rated anywhere between a 4wt and a 6wt line, you're in business. A floating line is all that's needed, coupled with a 6lb nylon leader measuring around a foot less than your rod, and made up with a 1ft dropper 2ft from the leader point. Takes aren't a case of 'fish hooks angler', so close monitoring of the fly line is essential - the line stopping, dipping or moving to the side must be met with a strikel. If not, the fish will be gone. Basically, if in doubt, strike. This can be taxing on the eye, as such specialist nymph-tip fly lines have been created incorporating fluorescent tips or bulbous ends to assist the angler. Alternatively (and it's cheaper), I prefer to roll some fluorescent floating putty on my short braided leader, preserving my standard Cortland peach for other uses.
Your fly selection should largely be determined by the type of water to be fished lighter flies for the shallower runs and pockets, heavier beaded versions for the deeper water, assuming that surface activity is minimal, of course. No casting is done at all! Indeed, your non-casting arm becomes redundant, so tuck it away in a warm pocket - you will learn to appreciate this on cold winter days.
Draw no more than 6ft of fly line out of the rod tip, and tighten your drag to a tension that enables line to be drawn when a fight ensues, but not so loose that river flow or a strike makes the spool turn.
Position yourself directly across or slightly below the water to be fished, standing parallel with the riverbank.
Start by dropping the flies below you, and when the line straightens, take the rod in an arc to an upstream position with a sharp flick, catapulting your flies directly upstream.
As the flies land and descend, the rod tip begins quite low. Slowly and gradually raise the rod tip as the flies progress towards you, to the point where you're not hastening the flies or leaving slack line on the water that would delay a strike.
The next step is basically a repeat process of the first, only in reverse order. As the flies travel past you and to a downstream position, gradually dip your rod in response, again watching the line tip for anything untoward. Finally you will be back to the starting stage. Hold the flies in this direct downstream position for a few seconds - it's a deadly time for takes as the flies flutter up from the riverbed, seductively mimicking a dislodged morsel. It may sound difficult at first, indeed fraught with mistakes for the first few outings. But after a few trips and a few takes it will eventually become second nature.
There are a few essentials to this form of fishing. First, waders - you will invariably need to wade to reach some of the pockets and runs. For winter fishing, you can opt for some Neoprenes, but I use Simms' layering system underneath my breathable waders, which means that I have one pair of waders that can be used in any season. Second, you need polarising glasses, not so much to see fish as to allow easy tracking of the fly line tip and to monitor any takes that may occur when surface glare would otherwise prevent you seeing them. Third, if you're not a confident wader, or are unfamiliar with watercraft, don't take risks - get a wading staff, a lifejacket or, ideally, both. Travelling light is a must. You may fish a great length of water in a day, so carry only the essentials, if possible solely in your pockets.
Cliff was well underway even before I had put nylon on my fly line, making a fine start with a cracking late-season brownie on an olive Czech Nymph.
Unfortunately the river was still fairly high, although clear, after the last flood, which stopped us from searching out every stretch of water. This wasn't necessarily a bad thing, however. When this happens you learn to appreciate what's in front of you, rather than feeling the need to wade over to the far bank from the off. Again, the grass isn't always greener on the other side!
We gradually worked our way downstream, picking off the odd grayling here and there, including some superbly conditioned 1lb-plus fish, which give a tremendous account of themselves when they get their huge dorsals up in the current. Takes were slow and we weren't really bouncing bottom, so we agreed that some depth-charges were needed. Sometimes with the powerful flows, even if the run isn't that deep, some heavy flies must be used to get them straight down to the 'killing zone'. I opted for a double Gold Head which also had a lead underbody, with Cliff also scurrying around for some Titanic-esque pattern. This did the trick and our catch rates certainly increased in the afternoon, with both Cliff and I catching a fair number of fairly decent grayling.
It's amazing how easy it is to escape from a city and be surrounded by nature - rabbits, squirrels hoarding, wild ponies and some cracking fishing.
We made our way through an overgrown field towards the bottom of the beat, where time would unfortunately draw the day to a close. With still enough light for an hour's or so's further fishing, in we went. The day had already been more than successful, and pleasurable to boot.
What happened next was as unprecedented as it was welcome. The cast had more than fished out and there I was, taking in my surroundings, when I noticed the line stop. A lift resulted in a very heavy contact, followed by a powerful surging run - this was no pounder!
Heavy rapids were below me, which proved a nagging worry as the fish crept intelligently towards them.
Some two-handed side strain finally halted its downstream advances, and I regained some modicum of control. Finally the back of the fish showed, followed by some profanities as we ascertained that I'd hooked a salmon.
A few minutes later we managed to get the fish on its side and slid it into the net. It certainly was no spring-perfect silver beauty, but quite the opposite, ripen and ready for spawning. Out popped the hook and off slipped the salmon, leaving Cliff and I somewhat elated.
To be honest, the day could have ended there, and it probably would have, had it not been for the odd rise we saw on the way back to the car. A few fish were picked off to round off a fantastic day, before nightfall was upon us.
The Taff has much to offer the angler - in our case, far more than we expected! You, too, could be this lucky, but first you have to be there. For £4, what have you got to lose?